Teenage Dirtbags
by kittenintheden
Summary: Soul is a dirtbag burnout and no one is surprised, but they don't know why the nerd-girl valedictorian hangs around him. Regular high school AU. SoMa friendship and... things. Rated M for drug use, language, and THINGS to be safe. Ends on a lemony note. May possibly add some one-shots later, we'll see.
1. Chapter 1

They had the weirdest friendship. None of their peers understood how the tall, towheaded burnout with the permanent slouch and the studious, radical, nerd-girl valedictorian got along, but they were rarely seen apart. Early in their high school career, rumors circulated that they were dating in secret, but they petered out. They weren't a couple. They just were.

It wasn't uncommon for their classmates to watch them walking down the hall, her waving her hands and ranting about something political while he strolled beside her with one earbud in his ear, regularly punctuating her ravings with interjections of "I don't care. I don't care. I stiiiiiiiiill dooooooon't caaaaaaaare."

"Your apathy is a sickness," she'd snap.

"Your non-existent ass is a sickness," he'd respond.

Their fights were catastrophic. People would skip class to watch them go at it. Screaming to the heavens, Olympian-level eyerolls, insults so creative that students would write them down. He would walk away from her backwards with his two middle fingers raised high in the air and she'd throw the heaviest book she could find after him.

They'd be spotted alone for a few days, but then it was business as usual, them eating together on a bench under the peppercorn trees like nothing had ever happened.

_If only we knew what went on behind closed doors_, everyone would whisper to each other. How did they even _work?_

It really wasn't as complicated as they all thought.

Like always, Maka lounged on Soul's futon at his apartment, studying and waiting for him to get home from his job at the nearby stop-and-shop. He'd given her a key a year ago after a huge fight with her dad and told her she could stop by whenever. So she did.

The apartment was little more than a hole in the wall — a studio with a tiny bathroom, a tinier kitchenette, scattered furnishings, and a futon he could pull into a bed. It was dingy and coming apart at the seams, but it was his.

When she heard the lock rattle, she blinked and looked up to see Soul push his way in, stretching and yawning as he dumped his bag beside his shoes. He gave her a little wave, unsurprised.

He picked up the plain white envelope on the floor and opened it. Looked like several hundred dollar bills this time.

"Is she at it again?" Maka said, glancing back at the pages of her book.

"Seems like it." He went back out and she heard him knocking on his neighbor's door.

"Yeah, hey, Rita," he said. "Another gift for you, courtesy of my mom. No problem."

When he came back inside, Maka said, "You could probably use some of that, you know. It doesn't mean you have to do anything."

He shrugged, lighting up a clove cigarette before walking over to flump into his beanbag chair. "Rita can use it more. She's got a kid."

Maka wrinkled her nose as the scent of plastic-y cherries filled the air. "I can't believe you still smoke those nasty things."

He blew his next puff out at her. "It's been a long day. You won't let me smoke weed around you, so I do what I can."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, him listening to some chick warbling with a harp on his iPod while she studied. Soon enough, he flopped over the arm of the futon and poked her in the side.

"Maka. Maka. Maka. I'm bored. Maka."

She swatted his hand away. "Maybe you could actually complete an assignment?"

"Uuuuuuuugh no. You wanna fool around or something?"

It was an old joke between them, and she gave one of her typical responses. "No. You probably taste like bong water and repressed childhood angst. I'll pass."

This went on for several minutes before she agreed to flip on his shitty TV and watch a music award show with him. They were right in the middle of snarking at the latest pop star's ridiculous cry-for-attention performance when her phone chimed.

"Christ, it's my dad." She muted the television and answered with a huff. "What?"

Soul was about to light up another clove when he glanced her face and saw her expression move from annoyance to shock to terror.

"Where is she?" Anxiety made her voice skyrocket a full octave. "How bad is it? No, I don't need you to fucking… I can get there myself. I'll meet you." She threw her phone to the ground and ran her shaking hands through her hair. "God damn it."

"Maka, what…?"

Before he could stop her, she was up and moving, making her way around his apartment like a whirlwind. He picked up her phone and held it out, and she snatched it from his hand, throwing it into her bag with her pens and notebook and anything else she could grab, including his latest issue of Rolling Stone.

"My mom was in an accident," she finally said, breathless. "He said there was a pile-up on the freeway, and she's in surgery, and they called him because he's still her emergency contact, and… and… Jesus, I can't…"

She was starting to hyperventilate, panicking because she couldn't locate her other book, where was her book, why couldn't she find her _fucking_ book? He gathered her into his arms, squeezing her against his chest, and pulled her down to the floor where she sat between his crossed legs, curled and tiny. They rocked back and forth until her breathing slowed and her hands loosened where they'd been white-knuckling his jacket.

"Hey," he said into her hair. "It's cool. It'll be okay. I'll drive."

She nodded against him, inhaling deeply. He always smelled resinous, smoky, and a little like cheap aftershave. Comfortable. Familiar.

Thirty minutes later, he was walking her up to the hospital entrance. She paused and stared up at the building. He could see her throat fluttering as her pulse picked up.

"If you'd rather go back and hotbox in my beater, offer still stands," he said, jerking his thumb to point behind him.

She laughed and gave a weak kick to the back of his legs. Then she pulled him down into a hug, standing on her toes. When she leaned back, she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I'll be here when you're ready," he said. "Just text me."

He watched her go, meeting her father outside the automatic doors. The man reached for her sleeve and she jerked her arm away. Soul was too far away to hear, but based on her dad's expression, he could imagine what she'd said to him before going inside. He smirked.

After a minute, he went back to his rusty orange-ish car, leaning the seat back and pulling his hair band low over his eyes to block out the streetlights. He was bone-tired, stretched thin from a day of menial labor and customer service and high school and all the bullshit he kept bottled up. Exhaustion pulled at him, but he wasn't going anywhere. He'd told her he'd wait, so he'd wait.

He'd always wait for her, just like she'd always wait for him.

When his old man had knocked him around one too many times, she'd helped him seek legal emancipation. When her parents had split, he'd sat on her bedroom floor all night, smoking and holding her hand while she sobbed. They were both broken, and strange, and occasionally reckless. Most of all, they were all those things together.

These were the moments no one ever saw. This is why they worked.


	2. Chapter 2

Soul was thoroughly enjoying the fact that Maka had finally agreed to get high with him, just once. All through high school, she'd resisted, insisting her studies came first. She didn't care that he did it, she just didn't want to do it herself. He respected that. Every once in a while, he'd offer, just to see if she changed her mind, but he never pushed.

Then they'd graduated. Him by the skin of his teeth, her with a valedictorian speech and a scholarship to one of her top-choice universities. The summer felt free, full of possibility, and they'd spent most of it together, like always. A few parties, a few movies, lots of lounging around with mutual friends or each other. The days dwindled down. He didn't think about it too much. It made his chest feel tight. She'd only be an hour away, but it still felt like an ocean.

She left in three days.

So tonight, as they watched yet another bad movie on his piece-of-shit television, he'd brought it up again, just for kicks.  
He reached into the small dresser by his futon and pulled out his rolling papers. She leaned against the arm of the futon on the other side, her feet curled up between them and resting against his hip. When he pulled out his little case, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"It'd be like studying, you know," he said. "College prep. You can't go to college without knowing how to smoke. It's definitely a rule somewhere."

He expected her to roll her eyes. To tell him to go do it in the bathroom. To say no thanks.

Instead, she said, "Yeah, okay. Why the hell not."

Which is how they'd ended up sitting across from each other on his floor, their legs sprawled in front of them and a scented candle burning on his kitchenette counter. One of her legs was bent at an angle, the other was draped over his.

She held the joint like a cigarette, which he thought was hilarious, and he lit it for her. She sucked in her cheeks and immediately started hacking like she was dying. She tried one more time, leaning in such a way that her overlarge shirt drooped off one shoulder. Same result. He took the joint from her before she dropped it.

"You're not inhaling," he scolded. "You're just letting the smoke irritate the top of your throat."

When she could choke out words, she said, "Let me try again."

His mouth quirked up in a half-smile, appreciating that her competitiveness extended even to learning to smoke properly. She sucked in and coughed.

"I don't feel anything," she said.

"That's because you're terrible at this," he said. "Look, come here." He took a hit and leaned forward, lips slightly parted and eyes hooded, like he was going to kiss her. She instinctively leaned away and cocked her eyebrow at him. He beckoned her forward with a finger and she shook her head.

Soul turned his head to the side and exhaled. "Fuck's sake, Maka, it's just shotgunning. I'm not putting moves on you."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I inhale first and then I blow it into your mouth." He set the joint down on the edge of the ashtray. "You just have to focus on breathing it in."

"That's disgusting," she said, looking at him like he'd just asked to spit in her mouth.

"No, it's intimate."

"We -" she gestured between their chests "- are not intimate."

"We've held each others' hair back during the aftereffects of bad takeout," he said. "Trust me, we're intimate."

"That doesn't mean-"

"I had to clean your puke off my floor. You want to talk about disgusting?"

Maka folded her arms in front of her chest. "It just seems weird."

"If you won't shotgun, you could always try a French inhale." He picked up the joint and took another hit. When he parted his lips, she could see that he'd let the smoke pool in his mouth. He pushed it out slowly with his tongue, letting it ghost past his lips so he could inhale it through his nose.

She didn't want him to ever do that again. She hated how unfairly sexy it was. Her freaking best friend and his pretty, pretty, dopey-but-mostly-pretty face.

"Fine, I'll do the stupid... shotgunning thing."

"Okay then. Just breathe it in as it comes." He took a hit and leaned forward, expectant.

After a second's hesitation, she inclined her head to meet him, their lips nearly touching. His hot, smoke-filled breath reached her tongue and she pulled it in, focusing on taking it into her lungs this time. It tasted a little like she imagined burning sap would taste if it were a kind of funky and the teensiest bit sour.

"Hold it," he said, still close enough that she could feel his breath on her mouth.

He leaned back. "Now let it out."

She did, the smoke flowing from her and dissipating in the air.

"See?" he said, eyes half-closed and smile widening. "Easy."

They performed this method once more and then he let her draw from the joint again. She managed without coughing. He took one more big hit himself and then put it out. He didn't want either of them to get too messed up. It was her first time.

That's when she noticed how bright the colors on his wall posters looked. She tilted her head. Had she ever really looked at these posters before? They were pretty incredible. How had she never noticed?

"Hey Soul," she said.

"Mmmm yeah?" His voice was pleasant in her ears. Like silk, maybe.

"Have your posters always looked like that?"

He laughed, slowly. It sounded like "guh huh" in his chest. A giggle rose in her own throat and she hid it in the back of her hand.

"Oh my god," she turned to look at him. Her head felt lighter, like she'd emptied something out of it. "Am I high?"

This time he guffawed. His nose crinkled up as he laughed and he pointed to his own face. "Your eyes are so big right now. How do you feel?"

"I feel..." She ran her fingertips over the inside of her wrist. "Not that much different, I guess. Things are kind of... echo-y, I think? That's probably not right. Sort of float-y. And your posters are really, really shiny."

"Sounds like you're buzzing, at least. It's a start."

They looked around his room for a while, her pointing out things she'd never really noticed before and him nodding sagely. Her buzz deepened, edging closer to a true high, leaving her content and willing to just breathe and be.

He snapped his fingers, excitement on his face. "I know what we should do. Music. We need music."

When he got up to go to dig out his laptop, she followed. He was seated in front of the glowing screen [such screen, much glow, giggle], and once he had it set up, he scooted back a bit and took her by the wrist, pulling her gently down to sitting in front of him. He pressed play and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Watch," he said. "Watch and listen."

The screen swirled and danced in front of her, colors and lines moving and blurring to the pulse of the music. She'd never been super into music, always tolerating Soul's weird tastes without too much comment. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew it was the same stuff, the screensaver the same standard thing that always came up when the laptop went untouched for too long. Still, it was... different.

"Can you hear it?" he said near her ear. "Do you get it?"

It thrummed in her, somewhere deep inside. For the first time, she really listened to the words, felt them in her head and her bones.

"Yeah," she whispered, surprised. "I think I kind of do."

"You know that poetry you read?" he said, moving his fingers in front of the screen, following the colorful curves. "It's like that. It's like poetry set to sound, only it's not just any sound. It's the sound in your soul."

He tapped her in the center of her clavicle, just below the dip of her throat, and she hummed. "In my soul," she repeated, smiling. "You're my Soul. My Soul."

She felt him lower himself to the floor behind her and she followed suit, laying next to him and staring at his ceiling. It was darker now, and the candle from the kitchenette flickered, casting shadows that she liked to watch.

They talked about things, all kinds of things. How she was worried about going back to square one at a new school. How he didn't know how he'd fill his days without her around. The curve of the moon. What sort of food was appropriate to give as a gift.

At the mention of food, Soul got up. He returned bearing gifts. She took an Oreo, delighted that the frosting stayed on one side when she pulled it apart. When she gave it a tentative lick, it was the sweetest, most wonderful thing she remembered tasting all day.

"Have Oreos always been this good?" she said after her third cookie. "I don't remember them being this good."

They were sitting up facing one another again, both cross-legged. The music continued to swirl around them.

"I've been telling you for years," he said, popping a pretzel in his mouth. "It makes everything better."

"Maybe you were onto something," she agreed. "Maybe."

He smirked at her, reaching up to pick a crumb of something off his lip. That mouth, Maka thought. That stupid mouth, right there on his stupid face. Topped with that stupid mess of hair that had never darkened from the very palest shade of flax in all the years she'd known him.

"Well," he said, looking very pleased with himself. "Now you won't be the most inexperienced one when you go to your fancy new school. Got yourself a college experience before you even made it to your dorm."

There was a hint of sadness behind his words, of missing her already. It made her heart hurt.

In the background, the music changed. It had been mostly old stuff - some classic rock, some jazz. Now it shifted to something low, a pair of voices pulsing through the air. Maka was coming out on the other side of her high, still floating and loose, and the allure of the song caught her hard in her center, stoking something hot.

It must've shown on her face, because Soul noticed. "Maka?" he said. "You still good?"

She tried to shake the thought that had just occurred to her from her head, but it didn't come loose.

"No? Do you feel sick?" Concern laced through his voice.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm fine. I didn't mean I wasn't fine. There's just something in my head."

"Oh," he said, relaxing. "Yeah, that happens to me sometimes, too. What's in there?"

"Nothing." She shrugged and drew her knees up to her chest.

His half smile was back and he reached out to nudge her. "You can tell me. It helps to get it out, sometimes."

"I don't know if this one should come out," she said.

"It can't be weirder than that time I told you I was pretty sure Professor Stein was performing reanimation experiments on those fetal pigs in biology."

She played with a strand of her hair, considering. Her eyes were dragged back to his mouth, the song still creeping up inside her. Did it have an end? She didn't know if she wanted it to. She licked her bottom lip.

Well, why not? This was Soul. Who better to tell? It suddenly seemed like a great idea, bubbling up in her chest like something golden and glowing.

She dropped her knees and leaned forward, beckoning him closer so she could tell him her secret. He leaned forward to hear it.

When her lips were right up against his ear, she whispered, "What if we took care of another college experience tonight, too?"

He pulled back, giving her a weird look. "Huh? I don't have any other drugs to try."

She licked her lip again. "Not what I meant."

He noticed it, then. The heated look in her eye, the one she got when she saw something she wanted, like a rare book. Understanding suddenly dawned on his face and his eyes went wide.

"Oh shi-" was all he managed to get out before her mouth was on his.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Just an update to add this note, nothing's different! (Sorry.) This chapter is lemony, folks. Ye hath been warned, verily.

* * *

They were kissing they were kissing _oh shit_ they were kissing like _really kissing_ and her hand was on the back of his neck drawing him in deeper. Her tongue tentatively ran along his bottom lip and fuck, it felt pretty fucking good, and not just because he was still kind of high.

He put his hands on her shoulders and carefully pushed her away. He couldn't do this. They couldn't. For so many reasons, not the least of which involved the fact that they were high, together, for the first time.

"What?" she breathed, mouth rosier than he remembered it. "It's an experience, right?"

"Maka, shit, no. You're high. I'm high. Everybody's high. Sometimes weed does... things. Makes everything more intense." He swallowed, trying to organize his scattered thoughts and make her understand.

"Mmhm," she agreed. "Kissing feels really good right now." She tilted her head down toward her shoulder so she could kiss his hand, his knuckle, down one of his fingers...

He pulled his hands back. "Whoa, Speed Racer, okay. Slow your roll." He should have thought of this. _But why would he think of this?_

Confusion flitted over her face as she pulled her drooping shirt up to cover her shoulder. "Why?"

"Because... because... it's _us,_ Maka. You don't want to do that with me. You want to do that with..." His voice faded away from him, because he could not think of a single person he thought she should be doing that with.

They weren't complete amateurs, either of them. They'd talked about stuff, sure. After a day of ribbing, she told him all about the guy she'd let get to second base after he'd put up a good fight against her during mock trial. He'd told her about the poorly-executed blow job he'd received at a party once and they'd had a good laugh about it. They'd dated around a little, sort of. They'd kissed people.

But in the end, neither of them had ever had sex, and they both knew it. Kind of hard to get lucky when you spent the majority of your time with your other-gendered best friend. It tended to lead to assumptions.

Maka looked so warm, so calm. "Dumbass," she said. "I want it to be with you _because_ it's you."

The weed was making his brain slow. He tried to get it to speed up. "Huh?" was all he could spit out.

She waved her hand around the room, sighing and looking at the ceiling. "I don't want it to be some one-night stand, or with some guy I just met who tells me nice things and then fucks off after a month." Her throat bobbed as she swallowed and looked him in the eye. "At least I know you'll still be here in the morning. And the morning after that. On and on."

His jaw worked, but no sound came out. It had crossed his mind, sure. He'd even dreamed about it a handful of times, in that weird way that you sometimes dreamed about getting it on with a random person from math class.

"Maka," he said, his voice lost and small. Maka, who'd dressed his hand when he'd punched a hole through the bedroom wall of his family home. Maka, who yammered about human rights and rainforests and the economy until he thought his head would cave in. Maka, who would get a bagel with lox sometimes just so she could give him the lox.

He was leaning back on his hands, legs stretched across the floor. She crawled over him until she straddled his thighs, sitting herself down in his lap before reaching a tentative hand out to run her fingers from his temple to his jawline. She traced her thumb over his bottom lip.

He was out of excuses. A few stray voices in his head tried to tell him that sex changed things, but he knew they were full of shit. It wouldn't change things with her. They'd been through too much. They knew each other too well.

"Are you absolutely, completely, totally sure about this?" he asked.

"Of course, goofball." She leaned in and pressed her lips to his; gentle, soft, and sweet. The same kiss she'd pressed to his forehead or his cheek a hundred times. She pulled back and smiled. "It's you."

Neither of them moved. She shifted a little and cleared her throat. "Are you?" she asked.

Weirdly, he realized he was. He nodded. "Yeah."

"So, Soul," she said, her face fragile and open. "Wanna fool around or something?"

"I've been rocking a semi for the last five minutes, so I'm going to go with yes."

She laughed, cupping either side of his face and kissing him hard. This time, he was ready. He leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her ribs and hugging her against his torso. The music kept playing, and their tongues slid together in time, flicking and swirling. It wasn't long until their surprised giggles turned into hums and pants.

It was too hot, so shirts came off. He ran his fingers over the place where her bra met her breasts, enjoying every little hitch in her breath. She reached in front to unclasp it, and holy shit, her tits were awesome. He'd seen her in a bikini before, but this was an entirely different experience, an entirely different context. His mouth was on them before he'd even stopped to think about it, teasing, licking. She arched against him and it was like he was inside his body and out of it. He was himself, kissing this ball of light and fury he'd known for most of his life, and he was someone else, someone about to make it with a woman and who thought he was really hot shit.

His half-wood had become a full-blown boner, and she noticed. Oh, did she notice. She slid against it and he moaned, he _moaned,_ and she did it again a little harder. He responded in kind, bracing himself with a palm on the floor and raising his hips to meet hers, once, twice, thrice. A thought scampered through her brain, screaming _oh my god are we seriously dry humping,_ and she waved it away, thinking, _yes, yes we are._

The thought of doing it without their pants on suddenly occurred to her and she broke away, looking down at him. Soul's eyes were almost unfocused, his expression dazed and half-lidded.

"Okay?" he gasped.

"Okay," she replied. "Bed."

"Yeah."

She scrambled off him and he flipped over onto his knees, feeling underneath the futon for the latch that made it lie flat. He found it and the thing slid into place with a soft creak. He stood, turning, and she was waiting, jumping up to meet him, legs around his waist.

"You weird little spider monkey," he breathed into her neck, lowering her down onto the bumpy mattress so they could resume humping with vigor.

Having him on top of her was strange and exhilarating. It brought back memories of tickle fights, which would have made her laugh if she weren't arching and gasping instead. Instead of sliding, he rocked into her, his hardness pressing against her heat. It was really nice for about a minute, but then it started to ache.

She licked along his ear, bringing out a full body shiver that made her very happy, and whispered, "Soul."

"Hnnnngggg," came his response from where his face was buried in the crook of her neck.

"Soul, do you think you could... AH... maybe..."

He stilled a little, raising up on his elbows to look down at her. "Hmn?" he grunted.

She pointed down, feeling her face warm. "Could you, um. With your fingers, or maybe your, uh..."

"Oh," he said. "OH. Yeah. Hell yeah."

He grinned like a devil, planting one more kiss on her mouth before making his way down her sternum, saying another hello to her breasts, and then trailing down her stomach until he reached the button of her shorts. He made short work of it and was digging his fingers into the waistband when he looked back up at her.

"You're sure this is still cool?" he said.

"Yes," she murmured. "God, yes."

She lifted her hips and he pulled her shorts off, her underwear along for the ride. She was officially stark naked and he was taking it all in. He didn't do anything for a minute and a panicky feeling fluttered in her chest.

He met her eyes, his lips swollen from kissing and arousal. "Maka, you are..."

"What?" she breathed, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

"You are like, stupid hot."

She kicked out at him and he caught her under the knee, bending it and laying a gentle kiss on the inside, smiling against the tender skin as he worked his way down one inner thigh and then the other. Delightful tension shivered down, all directed to her center, and she made contented noises as he worked. She felt him spread her a little wider and gasped in anticipation, reaching out to grab the dresser behind her. She waited...

... and when nothing happened, she looked down. Soul was still down there, kneeling on the floor so he was at the right angle, but he wasn't moving. He stared, right at the crux between her legs.

"Uh," he said, a rosy blush coloring his cheeks and nose.

"Oh god, what?" she said. "Is it weird-looking?"

A nervous laugh escaped him. "No! I mean, it looks like I think it should look? I'm not sure. I haven't seen many in person."

She smirked down at him.

"Okay, any. I haven't seen any in person."

She covered her breasts with her hands, giggling to the ceiling despite her own nerves. "You've never done this before."

"You know I haven't done this before. You're with me all the time. Don't laugh, asshole!"

"I'm not laughing."

"Okay," he said, cracking his neck. "Okay, I'm doing it."

"You're not going BASE jumping."

"Close enough."

With one final kiss to her thigh, he dipped low, and she felt a tidal wave of heat pulse through her as his tongue took a long draw over everything, from her opening all the way up to the place where her hair curled.

He looked up to see her with her head thrown back, hands still pressed against her breasts.

"So yeah, then?" he said.

"Shut the fuck up and do it again," she answered.

He complied, teasing, testing, finding the places that made her thighs twitch on either side of his head. At one point, after he'd run his tongue over her most sensitive spot, swollen with need, he popped up again like some ridiculously handsome meerkat.

"Oh," he said.

"Oh?" she panted back at him.

"I think I found..."

"Yes, you found it," she whined. "Use the knowledge for good."

And he did, returning to the only lesson she'd ever seen him truly dedicate himself to. He licked a slow circle and her entire body tensed in the most delicious way.

"Whatever you just did," she breathed. "Keep doing it."

So he continued, mixing up slow languid circles with quick flicks and sucks.

Oh, she was getting close. He seemed to be able to tell, because his movements became quicker, more desperate. Tentatively, he put a finger at her entrance and, with her encouragement, slid it inside, his hard-on pulsing to its own beat as he felt how slick and hot she was. He moaned into her and she moaned back.

He kept exploring and suddenly found a spot that made her keen.

"There, oh god, there," she squeaked, her hands twisting knots in his sheets and holy Christ he didn't think he'd ever seen anything as hot as that.

He kept going, determined to make her keep crying out like that. Her walls tensed around his finger, her breaths turning more and more erratic, and then...

"Oh my god, Soul, oh my god ohmygodohmygaaaaaaaaaaah."

Her hips bucked and he used his free hand to still her, to keep her from tossing him off as she pulsed and went sticky in his hand. He slowed, not stopping until her movements ceased. He blinked. Had that really just happened? It felt like he'd been down there a lifetime and no time at all.

He risked a look up at her and found her looking right back down at him, chest still heaving, hair splayed. The look she was giving him sent a brand new wave of electricity through him.

"Did I knock that shit out?" he said.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Yeah, you did good."

He grinned, wiping at his chin and crawling back up to lay beside her. He traced his fingers along her arm and could've sworn they left a glowing trail.

After a contented moment, she turned to the side and caught his mouth in hers. He responded in kind, his dick still ready for action, but he didn't want to press the issue. She'd started this. He'd let her finish it, if she wanted.

She pulled back just enough to smile against his lips. "Do you have a condom?"

His cock responded to the word "condom" like she'd called it by name. He pressed into her, something small and very excitable attempting to claw its way out of him.

"As a matter of fact," he said, shifting and reaching for his dresser drawer - the same place he stored his socks and his weed. He dug around until his fingers found a small box, pulling it out and handing it to her.

She turned it in her hands. "It's open," she said. There was a question in her voice.

"I, uh." He grinned into his pillow. "I may have tried one on once. Just to see what it was like."

They stared at each other for a second before bursting into peals of laughter. She kicked her feet against the bed, gasping for breath, and turned to kiss him repeatedly on his stupid, pretty mouth.

"You." Kiss. "Are." Kiss. "Such a." Kiss. "Fucking." Kiss. "Dork."

"Hopefully I'm literally going to be a fucking dork in a minute."

Their kisses turned slower, deeper. He drew her into him and she lifted her leg to wrap around his. He nuzzled her and kissed the place where her ear met her jaw.

"If you're done, that's cool," he said. "We don't have to. If you changed your mind."

In answer, she ran a hand down his happy trail and undid the button of his jeans like she'd done it a million times before.

"Oh, you're getting yours," she said. She sat up and started inching down his pants. He lifted his hips off the bed to make it easier.

Then there he was, in all his glory, standing at attention.

"Wow," she said.

"Thanks."

"I mean, I don't know how to gauge a good one from a bad one, as far as these things go, but it looks like a pretty good one."

"I like to think so."

The banter hid their nerves. She reached out, brushing her fingers over his length and mapping it out while he swallowed thickly. Cautiously, she wrapped her hand around the shaft and gave it an experimental pump.

"Ah," he said, reaching down to her hand.

"Sorry," she breathed. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No," he said. "You just might not want to... pregame. Not if you actually want to use it." He raised his heated gaze to hers and she pressed another kiss to his mouth.

He ran his fingers through her hair. "How do you want to do this?"

"I'll be on top," she said. It made the most sense. She figured she could aim and control things a little better that way.

"Maka gets what Maka wants." He beamed up at her, finding the box and digging into it to grab a circle wrapped in foil. He went to open it and she stayed his hand.

"Let me do it?" she asked.

He let her slip the condom from his fingers. She opened it, trying to recall that awkward day in health class so long ago as she slid the slippery rubber into her hands. Find the tip, pinch it between her thumb and forefinger...

"You look like you're about to perform surgery," he chuckled.

"Do you want your dick touched or don't you?" she quipped back.

He held up his hands in surrender, his grin a mile wide.

She slid the condom over the head, rolling it down like she was supposed to. He winced a little at first, but it turned into an "mmmm" as she got closer to the base.

Condom on. Moment of truth.

She swung herself over his hips, reaching between her legs to find him. It was awkward and it took a minute, but she managed to get him in position. He sucked in his breath when he felt himself at her entrance and his hands went to her hips.

"Maka," he said. She looked him in the face, watching him, full of love and friendship and trust.

And she began to sink down.

It was the best kind of agony, going slow while her body acclimated. She had to pause twice to readjust or hold him in place, but soon their hips met. They just laid there for a minute, a million thoughts and sensations running through them both. He dug his fingers into her, desperate for her to move and terrified that she would. She was so beautiful and so familiar and so _Maka_ above him that he could barely stand it.

She rose. And sank back down.

He died a little.

She did it twice more before he stopped her.

"Fucking Christ God Jesus Lord," he said. "I am a fucking loser, but could you... rock? I think if you rock I'll be able to keep from blowing it too fast."

"Oh." Her breath was coming short. "Yeah, that's... that's good."

"Believe me, if I'd known I'd be getting laid tonight, I would've jerked off or something before you got here."

She laughed, her body shaking over his and he was laughing, too.

"Oh god that makes it worse," he groaned. "I can feel you laughing all around me."

She leaned forward, hands on his chest, and rolled her hips. His eyelids fluttered and he bit his lip, and it was almost too much for her to take, knowing she was the one causing that little furrow in his brow.

Somehow they managed to find a rhythm that stoked the fire slowly, rather than pouring lighter fluid on the flame. Time slowed as they moved together. They never took their eyes off one another, committing to memory every microexpression, every hitched breath, every small cry. The place where they met grew tense and hot, but it couldn't compare to everything else. The way her hair fell across her face, the brush of his fingers across her belly.

Soul sat up, unable to stand being so far from her, even as they were connected. One hand splayed behind him for support, the other wrapped around her lower back. Their movements grew quicker, more feverish. They kissed, and kissed again, and again. The steady rhythm was forgotten. He was edging on chaos, standing at the summit.

There was a single moment when their foreheads touched, when he flicked his eyes up and she did the same and they stared deep into each other. In that moment, Soul fully grasped with absolute clarity that he was inside her, inside his _best friend,_ the person he loved beyond anyone else in the world. The only one he might actually die for.

And in that moment, he came. He came really fucking hard. So hard that it surprised him.

"Uhmyfuckingchrist," he groaned, body curling forward into her, into his Maka.

It caught her by surprise, too, and not in a bad way. When his eyes suddenly slammed shut, his eyebrows pulling together and his jaw going slack as he shuddered forward and cried out, a line of pleasure went through her whole body because it was incredible to watch him come undone.

They slowed to a stop. He thought he was spent, that he could do no more, but then she _squeezed_ him. Inside. She tightened around him, just a little, and he twitched with an aftershock, a small echo of what had come before. Then she did it again. Then he heard her giggle.

"You saucy motherfucker," he mumbled into her hair.

"Dorkfucker is probably more accurate."

"Oh god, we did, didn't we?" He sat back. "We fucked. Holy shit, we just fucked. I'm still all up in there right now. How did this happen?"

"Is your brain still on drugs?"

"Kinda." He shifted and they both hissed out a breath from the overstimulation between their legs. "Did you have a... Did I take care of you?"

She kissed his forehead. "You got me before."

"Oh," he said, his blush creeping up again. "Now I feel like a loser."

"Don't," she said, playfully cuffing him upside the head. "We're new at this. You did good." She paused. "It was good."

"Good," he said. "Yeah, it was... yeah. I'd say better than good on my end." He cleared his throat and moved his hand to her hip. "We should probably..."

"Right," she said, bracing herself on his shoulders and slowly rising off him while he reached down and held the condom in place. He sighed a little when he slid free of her.

She rolled onto the mattress near the wall and he plied her with kisses before saying, "I'll be right back."

He grabbed his boxers and went to the bathroom to take care of things. By the time he got back, she'd replaced her underwear and shirt and was reclining on her side, watching her own fingers pick out an invisible beat to the music that still played. He laid back down beside her and they both rolled onto their backs, heads together, watching the flame dance on the ceiling some more.

"I'm gonna miss you like fucking hell," he said.

She laced her fingers with his and squeezed. "You have to come see me on your days off. Every single one. I'll visit on weekends."

He pulled her closer, wrapping her in a hug as she rested her head on his chest. "What if I moved?"

"Moved? Like, near me?"

"Yeah," he said, feeling the idea growing in him. "There's nothing tying me here. I don't talk to my parents. Wes is gone. School's done. I can find a job and another shitty apartment anywhere. I can toss everything I own in my car."

She turned her head to meet his eyes, scared and more than a little hopeful. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking. I'll have to find a new dealer, but..."

She pinched him, and he pinched her back, and soon they were rolling around beating one another with cushions and laughing. When they were spent, she smacked him one more time for good measure and leaned up against the wall.

"If I have a cool roommate, maybe you can squat in my dorm room until you find a place," she said.

"Hopefully they're cool, because we should probably make this a regular thing." A sly grin spread over his face.

She made a "tch" sound in the back of her throat. "Don't count on it."

His smile faltered as an unexpected sting spread through his chest.

She caught the look on his face. "Oh, no. No, that's not what I meant!" She leaned over and kissed him. "I just meant you're not turning me into a burnout. That's all." Another kiss. "It was fun, but I think I prefer sex to smoking. I'd like to try it again. Sober."

"Such a goddamn straightedge," he said, returning her kisses.

"You do kind of taste like bong water," she said.

When they left his apartment in the morning to go get breakfast, Rita was leaning against her doorframe with a knowing smile on her face.

"Hey, Rita," Soul said as he locked his door. Maka waved.

The older woman just chuckled. "It took about a year longer than I thought it would. Try to keep it quiet after eleven, please." She tapped the side of the building and winked. "Thin walls."

When she went back inside, Soul slowly turned back to Maka, his shoulders hunched up in embarrassment.

_Oh my god,_ she mouthed at him.

He pulled his hoodie up over his head and they both broke into nervous laughter as they walked toward his car.

They had the weirdest relationship. Other students knew he didn't go to the school, even though he followed her around to events and rallies and parties. The way they moved around each other betrayed familiarity, even intimacy, though it lacked the twitterpated newness displayed by most other couples on campus. She was whip-smart, quick to anger, determined to win. He was always leaning up against something, smoking, rolling his eyes when she started going on too long.

Their fights were still catastrophic, their make-ups still just as bewildering. No one could figure out if they were best friends or something else.

Except every once in a while, when someone went off the beaten path to walk behind a building, they'd spot the pair alone in their own private universe and witness her pulling him down for a kiss that made the earth stand still.


End file.
